Tales from Litwak's
by crankyman7
Summary: When Mr. Litwak retires and Mr. Johnson takes over, the game characters begin to settle into the new era. Life goes on, bringing in its wake love, sadness, and joy, tears, laughter, and hope. Lessons are learned and hurts are soothed. And old friendships are reaffirmed as the arcade moves inexorably towards the unknown future.
1. New Owner

**Author's Note**

This short story collection picks up right where _The Bittersweet Embrace of Time_ leaves off, and like all of my Wreck-It Ralph fics, it is set within the same universe. You're certainly welcome to read it on its own, though, without prior knowledge of the other stories. You'll probably be able to derive enjoyment from them on their own terms. Just be aware that a few of the stories may allude to previous events which you don't know about.

With all of that being said, dear readers, I hope you enjoy this collection.

* * *

 **New Owner**

Never in his life had Johnson been more astonished than he had been the previous night, when he had finally learned the secret of the arcade. To think that the characters he had known -and grown fond of- for most of his life, were alive-

 _Alive. It boggles the mind. And yet, here I am, chatting it up with Rancis Fluggerbutter._

"And then," the racer was saying, "I _ate_ the dumb thing. Saved it going to waste."

"Yes," Johnsons said, nodding half-absently. "That's…"

Rancis folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

"No, I did, I did," Johnson blurted, suddenly more alert. "This is a lot to take in, though."

"I know, right?" said Candlehead, stepping into view. "You were all like- poof."

"What's 'poof'?"

Candlehead shrugged.

"Oh, just an all-purpose word."

"In short, nonsense," said Rancis.

"Is not!" Candlehead protested. "It means cute, and fluffy, and…"

She blushed.

"Did I just say that out loud?"

Rancis smirked.

"Yes. You did."

"No, not that!" Candlehead cried, her voice rising. "Fluffy! My fluffy muffins are burning!"

She dashed off, leaving Johnson staring blankly at the screen of _Sugar Rush_.

"She does that," said Rancis.

"If it was a joke, it made absolutely no sense and wasn't funny."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't," said Rancis. "With her, you can't always tell."

He grinned.

"Then again, that's half of why she's so much fun to hang around."

Johnson leaned back in his chair.

"Mind like a motor, eh?"

"On a whole 'nother level."

"I see."

At that moment, a monotone voice was heard saying:

"Let the man be. You're talking him to death."

Rancis cocked his head.

"Am I?"

Johnson waved a dismissive hand.

"Not to death, no."

Suddenly, Rancis turned abruptly.

"Gotta run bye!" he said. Then, with a quick wave, he was gone.

Johnson blinked.

"He's pretty fast."

"I've seen faster," Sour Bill replied.

"What's 'faster'?"

"Vanellope on caffeine."

"Really? What's it like?"

"Like a whirlwind!" Sour Bill said, his eyes growing wide as he spread his arms. "She talks faster than a speeding kart, and it takes forever to wear off."

Johnson smirked.

"Least nobody's given her booze."

"We'd have a rum go of it, if that happened." Sour Bill blinked and started to wander off.

 _Have a rum-_

"Wait a minute," Johnson said. "Did you really just make a joke?"

If Sour Bill heard his words, he gave no indication. Instead, he kept walking until he was out of sight.

* * *

"There's a certain charm to simply existing," Mr. Litwak would often tell his employees. "You meet all sorts of people, good and bad, normal and odd- no, scratch that, everyone's odd in some way. Weird things happen to you, and you can either grow frustrated, or else laugh as they occur. You should embrace oddity. Otherwise, you'll never be happy."

The disconnected ramblings of an old man, perhaps, but Johnson wondered whether his former employer might have had a point, at least on some level. When, after all except for him and Mr. Litwak had left the arcade, the arcade characters had begun to stir- when he had discovered the truth, he had laughed. He had been so stunned that he could do little else.

 _Stunned and delighted._

Not all of the arcade characters had understood why he was laughing, so he had needed to quickly explain himself. He still wasn't entirely sure whether some of them had got it. But one thing was certain after that first night- they were all of them accepting of his status as the new owner.

"Oh, I cleared it with them before I chose you," Mr. Litwak has reassured him, when he had voiced his doubts. "They've been watching you over the years, and they're pretty observant. They like you."

As far as Johnson was concerned, Mr. Litwak's word was as good as gold, and so his doubts had vanished.

He was still feeling overwhelmed, though.

He was in his forty-fifth year, and ever since his formative years in the 80s and early 90s, he'd grown accustomed to thinking of game characters as mere piece of programing, with no characteristics apart from what the developers had given them. To learn otherwise had forced him to reconsider a lot of the weird little oddities he had occasionally witnessed and dismissed. He had even felt fresh guilt over the few times he had failed to take better care of the consoles and cartridges he had owned in his youth. Above all, though, he was excited.

 _It's like a sci-fi premise come true._

Unlike Mr. Litwak, Johnson was not quite inclined to see the hand of providence in all things, and so he had chalked up this evolution of sentience to technological and scientific factors alone. But whatever his philosophical differences with his mentor, he shared the old man's joy at the discovery. He understood, too, why Mr. Litwak had been so careful to keep it a secret.

 _There are individuals who could be trusted with this secret. But the world as a whole- it just isn't ready. Somebody would inevitably abuse this development for personal gain._

As of right now, he had no plans to share the secret with anybody. And if he ever did, he would obtain the explicit permission of the games' characters, just as Mr. Litwak had.

* * *

When Sour Bill had gone, Johnson got up out of the gamer's seat in front of _Sugar Rush_ , which he had been occupying, and checked his watch.

 _Eleven. Time to go home. I gotta get_ some _amount of sleep tonight._

He said his goodbyes, promising to be there early the next morning. Then he headed for the arcade's exit. As he closed the door behind him, he paused. Peering through the glass, he could just make out the _Tapper_ cabinet near the back wall. An image of a little boy appeared in his mind, crowing excitedly over how many NPCs he had served. He smiled.

 _I was a more animated lad back then. Some things change._

He thought of Mr. Litwak then, of the old arcade, and of his love for both.

 _And some things don't._

Johnson locked the doors of the arcade and headed for his car.


	2. The Radio

**The Radio**

"Hey guys!" Vanellope said excitedly as she burst into the Castle's dining area. "Look what I got over in _Dance Dance Revolution_!"

The dining room's occupants -Taffyta and Candlehead- looked up from their half-eaten cereal.

"What is it?" Taffyta said crossly. "We're trying to eat."

"No need to be all bossy about it," said Vanellope. "Anyway, it's a radio." She plopped the aforementioned object onto the table.

"Ooo, a radio!" Candlehead said excitedly, her mouth half full of cereal.

"Stop that, you're spitting food everywhere," said Taffyta.

Candlehead swallowed. "Whoops, sorry."

"That's better," said Taffyta. "Anyway, we've all seen radios before. What's so special about this one?"

"Er…I don't know," said Vanellope, shrugging. "I just figured we could listen to it or something."

Taffyta and Candlehead both stared at her blankly.

"What else do you do with a radio?" Candlehead asked. "Put it in the bathtub?"

Vanellope clutched at the radio protectively.

"No, you'll ruin it!" she cried. Then she broke into a relieved smile.

"Oh wait, you were just being sarcastic."

"Who says I was?" said Candlehead.

Tafftya pushed away her bowl, put her legs on the table, and leaned back in her chair.

"And the usual situation is reversed," she said, closing her eyes.

"Hey, I knew she was joking," said Vanellope. "I was just playing along."

"Sure, sure," said Taffyta, leaning back further. Moments later, the pink-suited racer let out a yelp as her chair fell over and she tumbled head over heels onto her back.

"Nice backflip," said Vanellope.

Taffyta rolled her eyes. She clambered to her feet.

"Out with it, Vanellope," she said. "What do you _really_ want to do with the radio?"

Vanellope set the radio on the table once again. Hands behind her back, she looked sheepishly at the floor.

"I…kinda just felt bored."

"Bored?"

"Yeah."

"So…"

"So I borrowed the radio."

Taffyta moved towards Vanellope and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Is this a way of saying you're lonely?"

Vanellope continued staring at the ground.

"Yeah…I guess so."

"I know I've been pretty busy, spearheading Candlehead's presidential campaign," Tafftya said. She slapped Vanellope on the back. "So why don't we see what's on the radio right now? You and me. Together."

"What about me?" Candlehead asked.

"You too, of course," Taffyta added. "Just don't talk over the music."

"Okay."

Taffyta wrapped her arm around Vanellope, who raised her head.

"How 'bout it?"

"Okay."

Taffyta released her arm and walked over to the radio.

"Gather around," she said as she flipped the switch.

After a moment, the three heard a voice singing:

 _Gimme all your lovin!_

Taffyta quickly changed the station.

"Not that song," she said.

"Why not?" Candlehead asked.

"Don't ask- ah, here we go!"

She stepped away from the radio as the sound of _The Battle of New Orleans_.

"Not bad at all!" Vanellope exclaimed when the song had finished. "But do we have any rock and roll on this thing?"

"Coming up." Taffyta changed the channel once more.

"Ooh, Elvis!" Candlehead began jumping up and down. Then, she stopped.

"Who let the devil-dogs out?"

"That's not the song's name, silly," said Vanellope.

"No, listen!"

Before either Vanellope or Taffyta had a chance to reply, the curtain against the back wall was swept aside. Three devil dogs raced into the room, barking furiously. They careened over the table, scattering food everywhere.

"Run!" Taffyta shouted. She snatched the radio just in time to avoid its being smashed by one of the devil dogs before scampering for the door.

"Shouldn't we try to catch them?" Vanellope called as she and Candlehead likewise headed for the exit.

"I think I hear someone coming to do just that."

Vanellope looked back to see Wynnchel and Duncan burst through the curtain, the entire C.L.A.W.S team behind them.

"As one!" Duncan shouted. Along with all of the other cops, he whipped out a dog biscuit. The devil-dogs spun about and hurried towards the source of the odor they found so delightful. Duncan tossed his biscuit to Wynnchel before stepping aside to allow the devil-dogs to pass. Using the treats as a lure, the other cops managed to coax the devil-dogs out of the dining area.

"Sorry, ladies," Duncan told the three racers, who had stopped running and were now facing him. "We were just giving them exercise, and then they went crazy over some noise we couldn't hear. You know how sensitive dogs' ears are…"

His voice trailed off.

"That radio!" he said.

Now that the room was free of barking, Taffyta could hear that the radio was still on. She switched it off.

"It can't have been the radio," Vanellope said.

"We're you playing anything by Johnny Horton earlier?"

"Who?"

"Yes we were," Taffyta said. Then, she suddenly facepalmed.

"Oh. Right. The devil-dogs love his music."

She headed towards the table.

"Better clean this mess up."

"Already on it," said Duncan, pulling a washcloth from his belt. "You three don't trouble yourselves. Just flip that thing back onto a different station."

Soon, the radio was blaring out _The Hustle_.

"Surge is right," Duncan commented. "This stuff is great."

"Sure you don't want help?" Vanellope asked him.

"No, I've got it," Duncan said. "Let a cop do his work."

 _Do it!_

The timing of the singer was ironic enough to elicit a laugh from the donut.

When Duncan had finished, he doffed his cap.

"Once again, I'm sorry for what happened."

"I think it's the devil dogs who owe us an apology, officer," Taffyta commented.

Duncan smirked. As soon as he had gone, _Sharp Dressed Man_ began playing.

"Hey there."

As one, the three racers turned to see Otis floating a few feet above them. The _Pong_ paddle wore a tie just below the point where his handle connected to his flat head. Perched atop his head was a black top hat

"I need your all's judgement," Otis said, his ethereal voice echoing about the dining hall. "Does this get-up look good on me?"

Vanellope, Taffyta, and Candlehead burst out laughing simultaneously.

"Is it that bad?" Otis asked, sounding more than a little crestfallen.

"Oh no," Taffyta said, grinning. "Every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed paddle."

"Eh?"

Gesturing for silence, Taffyta gestured to the radio. The song was in its final minute.

After he had listened for a moment, Otis laughed too.

The song ended. Otis's laughter subsided.

"Otis?" Vanellope gave the paddle a thumbs up.

"You look good, chump."

"Thanks."

* * *

"So, how'd it go?"

Vanellope had just finished handing the radio back to the DJ. She offered him a grin.

"Great!" She pointed at the radio. "I like this one. If you don't mind, I'd use it again some time."

"I told you it'd bring you good times," the DJ replied. "She may look old, but she's still got it."

"Yeah," Vanellope agrees. "No more Johnny Horton, though."

The DJ frowned.

"Hey," he said sternly. "That dude's work was awesome. It ain't quite the style I'm used to, but it was awesome."

"Oh, I know, I know," Vanellope said, raising her hands defensively. "Hold your Hershey's." She lowered her hands. "I just can't handle another devil-dog stampede. They love his music too much."

"You can't ever love Johnny Horton too much."

"Not even if it means a royal mess?"

"Nope." The DJ turned to a record player and inserted a disc. Within moments, _North to Alaska_ was blaring loudly.

Instantly, the sounds of wild barking could be heard. After a minute, three devil-dogs careened onto the dance floor across from where Vanellope and the DJ were standing. Caught off guard, the characters who had been dancing all scattered, desperate to avoid the over-eager animals. After the devil-dogs came Duncan, the broken end of a leash in his hand.

"Bad dogs!" he cried. "That's the last time I take you into Game Central Station!"

The devil-dogs leaped onto a table of refreshments, causing cookies and beverages to scatter in all directions.

"Touché" said the DJ.


	3. Anniversary

**Anniversary**

As the night began to deepen and the arcade's hidden world began to blossom with its daily unprogrammed activity, Sergeant Tamora Jean Calhoun tossed her blaster rifle onto the cot she slept on within the barracks of _Hero's Duty_. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she saw that it lacked only a few hours until midnight. She spared one armored hand a single look. Though no ring was visible, she didn't have to see it to remember that the ninth anniversary of her marriage was nearly upon her.

If, nine years before, anyone had asked Calhoun whether she would have gotten married, she would have leveled a gun at their face. She was an officer in the military, a defender of freedom, and a rallying point for all who stood against the cybug threat. She didn't have time for that sort of thing. She had nothing against it, but she just didn't have time for it. Such was what she would have told anyone who had asked her. And to be fair, she had considered all of it to be truthful; she would have been telling no lie.

She just would not have been telling the _entire_ truth.

From the very beginning, Calhoun had been entirely aware of the fact that Dr. Brad Scott was nothing more than a pre-programmed memory, a cheap excuse to give her an angst-ridden backstory for the sake of "drama". Apart from a brief glimpse on a video-recording which appeared in the cutscene before a bonus level, there was virtually no trace of him in the actual gameplay; he wasn't even present as a sprite. Yet she had felt the loss like a deep wound anyway.

And oh, how she had resented that she had felt it so! Her resentment had manifested itself into an irritability about anything which triggered the pre-programmed memories, an irritability bordering on fury. It was a fury that had blazed forth only once, when Felix had all but declared his love for her in the shuttle. Though she had not had the prescience to form the thought then, she had realized afterwards that her objection had been twofold. Firstly, she had considered it an unasked intrusion upon her own affairs. Secondly, she had simply been irritated at the thought of being beholden to pseudo memories over which she had no choice, and having to admit it.

 _The thing I didn't realize was that I never_ had _to be beholden to them. Nor did I ever have to accept Felix's affections, either. Returning them was something I could choose for myself._

And choose she had, for the simple reason that she _did_ return his affections, in her own way. She respected him, enough to believe that she could indeed come to love the man as he did her. So she had married him, and their bond had deepened as the years went by, until neither the risk of death nor the entire expanse of the World Wide Web could tear them apart.

As for the memories- they were still there, but they no longer troubled her nearly so much as they had. To her, Brad was now but an element of gameplay, of a role she had made her peace with. She was not, after all, defined solely by her in-game role.

 _Though it does inform me to a degree_ Calhoun thought to herself with a wry grin. _I still have a taste for the violent, the strict, and the macabre._

She still had no idea how she had ever talked Felix into spending their honeymoon in _House of the Dead_ , but she knew that it had marked a bit of a turning point in his personality. Though his temperament was still the more peaceable and laid-back of the two of them, Felix had developed a taste for action that was notable for a man like him. He usually kept it well-hidden, save when times of crisis erupted. But the mere fact that he was now adept with firearms was a sign that Calhoun's influence had rubbed off on her husband.

 _It's an interesting thing, but he took to it more readily than Vanellope ever did, despite being a less exuberant person. It took me several years to get her to train with a rifle at all. She can do it now, but it's not her thing, I think._

The thought of Vanellope made Calhoun smile pensively.

 _There's no way Felix and I could ever have kids- we game sprites don't work like that. Being her auntie's the next best thing, I think._

Not that Calhoun would ever let Vanellope call her that. It was "Sarge" and only "Sarge" where she was concerned. Even so, she'd been more forgiving of the one or two slip-ups on the child's part then she'd let on.

 _That's kid's seen more real tragedy than I'd have wished on anyone, even an enemy. It's a wonder she's ever still chipper at all, let alone as much as she is. But I'll admit it- I kind of enjoy it when she gets a bit hyper._

 _Doesn't mean auntie won't ever give her a dressing down when needed, though._

Calhoun looked at the clock again. Ten additional minutes had passed- it was time to get moving. She had to meet Felix in a short while, so that they could spend their quiet evening together.

Walking quickly out of the room, she almost ran directly into one of her soldiers, who was carrying a basket with a note attached to it

"Sorry sir!" the soldier exclaimed.

"Yeah, yeah," Calhoun said, waving her hand dismissively. "What is it?"

"Special delivery from _Sugar Rush_ , sir!" The soldier handed her the basket, saluted, and departed.

Stepping back into her room, Calhoun set the basket on the table. Retrieving the note, she read what it said:

 _To Auntie Calhoun. Happy Anniversary!_

Calhoun frowned.

"I've told her enough times not to call me that," she muttered. She rummaged briefly through the contents.

 _Candy- a typical present from her, but kindly meant._

As her hand closed around the largest of the wrapped pieces, she stopped.

"An odd shape…"

Drawing the candy from the basket, she saw that it was indeed oddly shaped. In fact, it was shaped exactly like her own blaster rifle.

* * *

As Corporal Kohut and another marine walked by Sergeant Calhoun's room, they heard a burst of hysterical laughter come from within.

"What's up with the sarge?" the marine asked. "She's not usually this happy-sounding."

Kohut shrugged. "Dunno," he said.


End file.
